Little Left to Lose
by Night Strider
Summary: Mitko. A heart can only be broken for so many times. One shot. For ivybluesummers and Pollux.


Little Left to Lose

Disclaimer: I don't own SD characters, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: MitKo. A heart can only be broken for so many times. One shot. For ivybluesummers and Pollux.

Dedication: For John Andrew, for making me realize how beautiful prose can be. For Rio, for retrieving my long-dead urge to write. Your inspiration is worth more than I can tell you. Thanks.

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He watches the enormous amount of rain sliding down the gutter, pure formless transparency getting ambushed by a sewage's drain nearby. He envies the rain drops for all their pettiness, their careless abandon, their indifference to identity. He envies them for the Earth's willingness to admit them to its glorious territory whereas it has just thrown him out for being a human being with feelings and mistakes that cannot be accounted for. He pulls down his eyelids, seeing the world for what it is, for its mediocrity and cruelty. He pries his eyes open, sighing, not entirely sure when and how to embrace sadness, confusion et cetera. Hating the world so much doesn't make it a better place or, even, make one feel a little better. It does make one feel bitter though, he thinks and nearly laughs at his lame pun.

_He_ was his coffin, grave-digger and murderer all at once. _He_ made his mound for him just as a mother would make a bed for her lovely little child. _He_ offered him his much unexpected demise with such charm he couldn't have otherwise refused. Why did _he _have so much power over him anyway? _He_ killed him, stamped on him while he was bleeding and smiled gleefully as he, the thoughtless victim, drew out what he thought was his last breath. Or did he? He isn't certain anymore; no one's certain of anything once death looks him squarely in the face.

He was just a choice, otherwise a nullity. He could be juggled, accidentally picked and be the grand prize if his luck had proven reliable. But _he_ didn't choose him. _He_ just shrugged ever so impassively. Life's like that, _he_ said, good luck!_ He_ left him steeped in the mud, writhing in pain that wasn't so physical as it was deeply and surreally emotional. He loved him with every inch of his soul. _He_ rejected him and played with his feelings way beyond the bounds of decency. _He_ just knew where it hurt.

His insides squirm. He is unsure of what to feel again. He has been unsure of what to feel on so many occasions that sometimes it makes him wonder if he has any feelings at all. He soon discards his doubts once he remembers how much he's cried these past few years, not counting the ones when he'd smile in front of people while all of him ached. Yes, he does have feelings, and he can in fact measure how much pain he has experienced just by simply recalling his smiling eyes.

And now_ he's_ back from heavens know where. _His_ handsome face swims into focus, _his_ irresistible looks capturing his amazement like old times. _He_ didn't appear _to be_ sorry for all the wrong _he_'s done, for being a jerk for the most part. _He_'s willing to be taken back, if only he would take _him_ back. He tries to sneer at _him _to show utmost disgust, but remembers that this is one of the innumerable things he illogically loved _him _for; _his_ shameless, blameless innocence. _His_ failure to realize that _he_ is more than just capable of hurting people along the way. Leaving for instance; and when _he_ left, true enough, _he_ left something big in _his_ stead. A void.

He smiles benignly. Right, no way this is falling in love all over again. He still loves _him_, but not quite enough to say another word to _him_. It's just a part of him that still does, not the whole of him. He shakes his head. No. He tried so hard to forget _him_; if he takes_ him_ back now, it would only mean he'd be wasting all those efforts. Not quite worth the risk. _He_, however, couldn't move, and even if _he_ could he wouldn't know what to do either. So this is how paralysis feels? So much for wishful thinking._ He_ stands up to leave finally after a few glances his way. One finds grace even in _his_ hesitation. It's quite unbelievable how anyone would be able to get over someone like _him_.

That's when _he_ leaves once and for all. That's when he stops envying the rain drops.

END

A/N: Introspection is prevalent in this work, which explains, however insufficiently, the time and mood shifts. It's not necessarily understandable, but I chose to predispose this fic to profoundness familiar to the minds of ivybluesummers (who is bloody brilliant) and Pollux (who writes the wittiest quips). I trust in the fact that they are both open-minded and know style when they see it. In any case, thanks for reading.


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